Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Matter of Perspective ❯ Yamato ( Chapter 21 )

DISCLAIMER: See previous parts.

A/N: Having finished Part Twenty-Three (Part Twenty-Four is really just an epilogue-dealiebob, so this is the heart of the story), I figure I'm entitled to post Twenty-One now. ^^ This was a difficult installment for me. I don't subscribe to the whole 'Yamato's father is an abusive creep' school of thought, so Mr. Ishida couldn't react violently. But at the same time, I've set it up that he wanted Yamato to marry Sora (an idea I got off the 'Tegami ~Letter~' drama CD), so having him be totally okay with it all of a sudden would also be wrong. I think I managed a balance here...and we only have three more parts to go! Rah, rah, rah!

"And just where do you think you're going?"

Even at eighteen, there was just something about her dad's tone of voice that brought Yamato to a guilty standstill. She closed the front door and went back into the living room. The old man hadn't moved from the dinner table, but now his eyes would flicker occasionally from the newspaper he was reading to her where she stood. Yamato hadn't thought he would try to stop her from leaving, as it wasn't even 8PM yet. Then again, she hadn't really thought he would be home to react. Didn't it just figure that the one night she'd counted on her dad being a total workaholic would be the first time in years he took an evening off?

"Well, nowhere really..." She shifted from one foot to the other, tugging absently on the sleeve of her jacket. "Just out with Taichi."

On their first date, she didn't add. And I'm already late.

Again, the old man's eyes flickered. Maybe even admitting that much had been a mistake. "With Taichi," he repeated, setting the newspaper aside. "And you're dressed like that?"

Dressed like what? She had spent hours getting ready. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her clothes. Well, except for maybe the neckline -- but it was still the nicest thing she had. "I don't know what you mean," Yamato ended up saying carefully.

That was when the cigarettes came out: just a little blue and silver packet that her dad tapped musingly on the tabletop, but a sure sign he thought this conversation might take some time. Reluctantly, she took the seat across from him. And waited. The little cigarette packet went tap, tap; tap, tap. Her dad exhaled thickly, as if he were smoking already, and let one of the long white cylinders slide free.

"You really don't see it, do you? Stockings, lipstick, high-heels..."

"They're pumps," Yamato protested, thinking privately that the one pair of high-heels she owned wouldn't have gone with her dress at all. "See, the heel is wider and generally less -- "

"Fine." He stuck the end of the cigarette into his mouth and talked around it, almost distractedly. "Those are pumps, and you're my son. Or would you prefer 'daughter' now? My god, Yamato. Look at yourself."

She kept her eyes fixed on the cigarette, watched it bob up and down. Her vision blurred. But she refused to blink. If she blinked, she was going to cry. Yamato couldn't imagine anything more damning than that. "It's...it's just a dress. What did you expect? My normal things don't fit, and Mimi was the one who took me shopping..."

Derisive laughter. "Don't give me that. You've got at least one pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt, because you had them on yesterday when I got home."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a tiny voice wondered when her dad had started paying enough attention to remember what she wore. Yamato smothered it. Stared hard at the cigarette. "I wanted to look nice."

"I should have known," the old man muttered, and rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Yamato, it's nearly November. You're going to freeze to death out there. I suppose you think Taichi will appreciate the short skirt?"

Her breath caught painfully. Was that just banter, or...did he know? The blonde fought a sudden, overpowering urge to look away. She wasn't ashamed of this. She wouldn't let herself be ashamed, not when Taichi loved her. Not when she...when she loved him. Yamato blushed slightly. Did it really matter whether her dad had figured things out on his own? She'd had enough of pretending to be something she wasn't. For once in her goddamned life, she would just spit the thing out.

"Yes, actually." When it sounded small and uncertain, Yamato cleared her throat and tried again. She forced a jovial tone that wouldn't come of its own accord. "I mean, he's my boyfriend. Isn't he supposed to like my legs?"

The cigarette wobbled as her father fumbled for a lighter. She stared at the softly burning embers until her eyes watered, wondering if he'd heard her, wondering if she had the strength to say it again, and her heart was beating so loudly that she almost missed the final reply.

"You haven't made dinner yet."

Nonsensical words. She heard them, but she didn't understand them. What did dinner have to do with anything? When Yamato spoke, she couldn't quite keep the tremble out of her voice. "That's the only thing you care about?"

Of course, he hadn't said that, but he hadn't not said it, and he didn't argue now. Her dad had never expected dinner when she had a date with Sora. He'd specifically told her not to bother, that they could afford the takeout every once in a while. Apparently, things would be different this time...and somehow, Yamato didn't think money had anything to do with it.

Mimicking the old man's silence, she clenched her fists and went into the kitchen. They had leftovers from last night's dinner. She would use those and throw something together -- maybe a Chinese soup with lots of dumplings because she knew her dad hated them. It didn't take very long to cook, but Yamato decided to call Taichi anyway and let him know she would be late. With her father in the room to hear their conversation, that was the only thing she told him.

Not that her dad would've reacted or anything. He had barely moved in the last half-hour, just to take the cigarette away and bring it back again. Exhaling little swirls of thick grey smoke all the while like a goddamned fireplace. She could hardly breathe in the living room by the time she brought him his dinner, moving cautiously through the manmade fog to set it down on the table in front of him. Her dad didn't so much as blink, and Yamato started to walk away -- glad of the silence, even as she despised it. If he never even spoke to her again, at least she wouldn't have to hear the disappointment in his voice.

"Sora's going to be very upset."

Almost out of the room, but frozen helplessly where she stood. Yamato gritted her teeth. Why couldn't she just keep going? "Actually, I think she took it rather well."

Brief silence. "Have you thought about what this will mean when you change back?"

"Yes." God, yes. For days, she'd thought of almost nothing else. But after trying so hard, she knew better than to think she could keep herself from feeling for Taichi. "I love him, Dad."

She wanted him to understand -- to know that she hadn't chosen this. That she hadn't wanted to ruin everything. But all the old man did was heave a dusty sigh. "You're going to regret this," he told her quietly.

"Not half as much as I'd regret marrying Sora."

They were brave words. Yamato hoped she meant them; hoped that in the end, when everything got complicated, she would be so sure of this. Of herself.

"It's your decision. I'm not stopping you."

Even though she wasn't facing him, couldn't bear to face him, Yamato knew her father had opened his newspaper again. His way of ending the conversation -- of dismissing her. But the blonde stayed where she was for another minute, unable to convince her body that she wanted to move. Maybe that's as good as it gets, her mind whispered viciously. Don't tell me you were really stupid enough to think he'd be happy now that he's got a faggot for a son.

He might be okay with it, though. After he gets used to the idea.

No. No, he won't. You're fucked, Yamato. Idiot.

Why did she care so much? They barely said hello to each other most of the time. This shouldn't have made any difference...but it did. It made all the difference in the world. She felt sickened. Dirty. And angry at him for making her feel that way. Yamato took a deep breath. Anger was good. So much better than being hurt.

"I'll be back before 10PM," she called absently over her shoulder, and opened the front door without waiting for a response she knew would never come.

Bumping right into Taichi, who had a hand poised to knock.

"Sorry," Yamato mumbled. Never in her life had she been so relieved to see someone. She wanted to tell him what had happened. She wanted to fling herself headlong into his arms and stay there for as long as she lived. Instead, she forced up a proper smile so that he wouldn't worry about her. Taichi had spent too long waiting for this moment. How could she even think about disappointing him?

About disappointing anyone else tonight.

"S'okay," he said reassuringly, and reached down to brush a lock of stray hair behind her ear where it belonged. The intimacy of it was weird in that it wasn't weird at all -- Taichi had been doing that sort of thing forever. Except that she didn't slap at his hand or tell him not to touch her hair this time. "You look great."

"Thanks. You, too."

The response was automatic, as she hadn't looked at anything but her shoes since plowing into him at the door. Now Yamato raised her head in curiosity...and ended up staring. He did look great. Better than great. Somehow, the Keeper of Courage managed to wear something as simple as a loose black sweater, a pair of dark grey slacks, and a vanilla-colored leather jacket the same way that most guys wore tuxedos. Suddenly self-conscious, Yamato quickly turned to lock the front door behind her. Why had she bothered to get so dressed up when he could look that good without even trying?

"So, um...where are we going?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't notice her fluster.

It was a futile hope. Taichi grinned and offered his arm like a good escort, which only made her feel sillier. "Oh, just a restaurant."

She frowned suspiciously, but couldn't place the reason for it until the elevator doors closed. "Wait. What are you even doing here? I thought we agreed to meet at the train station..."

"Change of plans." The grin on his face widened. "When you called to say you'd be running late, I figured picking you up was the only way we'd be able to keep our reservation."

"...Okay, I give up. How is meeting me here any faster than meeting me at the station?"

"You'll see," he promised.

And she did. When they left the warmth of the condominium behind and Taichi opened the passenger side door on his father's car for her, she most definitely did. Yamato almost laughed, but appreciated the shelter too much to ridicule anything. "How did you ever get him to let you borrow the car?"

He snapped his fingers with mock-frustration. "And here I was gonna pretend it belonged to me. I know exactly what you mean, though. This car is like my dad's third child, and he treats it better than either of his real kids. You wanna hear something weird, though? He wouldn't let me have it until I told him I needed to get you."

"Gee, maybe he knows we're dating," she suggested with a perfectly straight face, and both of them broke up laughing at the chances of that. Then Yamato shivered and reached for the heater. "Damn, but it's cold tonight."

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Taichi trying not to smirk and elbowed him. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, really." He gave her an innocent look. "C'mon, Yama. You've gotta expect some of that when you leave the house in a mini-skirt."

Something unpleasant settled in her stomach. "Dad thought so, too."

"See? Not that I don't love the view..."

The unpleasant thing shifted painfully. It was all Yamato could do to smile weakly at him, and the rest of the drive passed in uncomfortable silence.

Just a restaurant turned out to mean a beautiful Italian place with pale candle lighting and deeply-polished rosewood. Like at any foreign restaurant, the food was horribly expensive -- which would've been okay if Taichi hadn't seemed determined to pay for everything. She kept her order to a minimum, feeling nervous and a little out of sorts. The fact of the matter was that Yamato had only ever dated one person...had only thought she would ever date one person, and being in a restaurant with someone else, let alone someone who was treating her like the girl... It was just strange.

Not good, not bad -- just strange.

It didn't actually occur to the blonde until after their waiter came back to set an unbelievably tiny serving of pasta on the table in front of her that this must be why Sora always seemed to have eaten before they went out for dinner. The same Sora who wouldn't meet her eyes in the hallways anymore. Yamato sucked in a harsh breath as her stomach tightened. That had been a mistake. Whatever tension had drained out of her because of the atmosphere and the company returned full force now, and even Taichi with his playful conversation couldn't calm her down again.

Eventually, he stopped trying. Just frowned at her thoughtfully until they were done eating.

The drive back home seemed to take forever and a day. Yamato pressed her forehead against the cool glass window and watched colored lights streak by until she had to close her eyes to keep from throwing up. For the second time that evening, she'd fucked up. With the way things were going, she really might just was well have told him the whole story. At least then he wouldn't have blamed himself for her discomfort. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was the point of keeping her problems to herself if she managed to ruin things anyway?

Lost in a haze of self-recrimination, the blonde almost didn't notice when the car came to a stop. It took her another full minute to realize that they weren't in front of her condominium. Or his. Or even still in Odaiba, from the looks of things. She started to ask Taichi if they had gotten lost, but knew from the expression on his face that they hadn't. Her former leader had driven into the middle of the woods deliberately, so there was probably a good reason for it.

Slowly, the noise of the engine died away and left her feeling as if she should turn on the radio or something. That would've been easier than talking, at least. She wasn't sure where to begin. But thankfully, Taichi didn't wait for her to make the first move.

"Okay. I don't know how dumb you think I am, but only a total moron wouldn't have noticed by now. So how about telling me what's wrong?"

Even at that juncture, there were any number of ways to avoid the subject. But Yamato just closed her eyes and sighed. The damage was already done, and instead of simply worrying him she had managed to worry him and hurt his feelings. Hadn't she hurt enough people yet?

"It's...it's my dad," was what she said at length. The words burned her throat. Like cigarette smoke. "I told him. About us."

A hand slid around her shoulders, and Yamato allowed herself to be tugged away from the window; didn't fight when her former leader drew her into his arms. The comfort was more than welcome.

"I'm guessing he was upset," Taichi murmured.

Upset? She almost laughed. "'Upset' doesn't quite cover it."

The arms around her tightened protectively, and she burrowed further into them, liking the way that felt. Enjoying the unfamiliar security.

"Did he hurt you?"

Her stomach twisted and she squeezed her eyes shut, struggling with the sudden vivid images that single blunt question provoked. Had her dad beaten her for failing him? Was that what Taichi had asked? Maybe broken a chair over her back or slammed her whole body into the wall so that every bone shattered.

"No," Yamato whispered because she couldn't seem to make her voice any louder. "He never touched me. Never even looked at me directly. But he didn't have to. The silence said everything."

The shadows fell between them for a moment as he pulled back to look her in the eye, and though he must have been able to see her expression perfectly, she knew nothing of his. It was unnerving, even as he leaned forward and kissed her nose in a way that tickled.

"God, Yama -- I'm so sorry..."

She smiled, just a little. "It's no big deal."

"How can you say that?"

Taichi's incredulous tone made her feel awkward all over again, but she stayed firm. "Because it could've been a whole lot worse. All he did was ignore me, and god knows I should be used to that by now." She sucked in a strangely watery breath of air. "Can you b - believe I actually thought that he -- that he might be okay with this? Talk about s - stupid, huh?"

"Yama..." He trailed off helplessly.

When had she started to cry? The blonde gazed angrily into her lap. Angry at herself for letting this evening spiral so completely out of control, angry at her father because he hadn't cared enough to yell, angry at Taichi for making her love him in the first place, angry at the cold weather, even angry at her own stupid clothes. The black silk dress that she had bought for this date. The white stockings that had taken forever to get into. Her newly-shaven legs beneath them.

Was her dad right? She hadn't even paused when the thought occurred to her...and the sight of so much hair clumped around the shower drain had turned her stomach. Yamato wasn't entirely sure she'd be able to let it grow back when Koushirou fixed them all. And with that thought, the last of her anger faded. It left something else behind -- a kind of weird residue that she was reluctant to examine too closely. Everything would just be so much easier if she never...

"Don't worry about it," Taichi said abruptly, and at first she had no idea what he was talking about. "No matter what happens, I'll be there with you. Besides, your dad always seemed like a nice enough guy. He'll come around sooner or later."

She lifted her head, genuinely surprised. It was so close to what she had been thinking earlier herself -- but the words sounded stronger the way he said them. Like they might actually be true. Suddenly, telling him exactly how much he meant to her seemed desperately important, but the intensity of her emotions mangled it when Yamato tried. God but she hoped he'd understood.

In that moment, as she leaned up to kiss him and he met her halfway, the knot of omnipresent tension in her stomach simply exploded. Yamato cried out involuntarily and doubled over, very nearly slamming her head into the dashboard. The pain was excruciating -- much, much worse than any stomachache she'd ever had. It felt like she was being torn apart. Then, as if someone had thrown a switch, the pain subsided. As soon as she could see anything other than blinding white, Yamato noticed Taichi hovering over her. He had a panicked expression on his face, but didn't seem to know what to do.

"Are you okay? Is it over?" he asked repeatedly.

The blonde nodded cautiously, and they were back on the road in what couldn't have been more than a few seconds. Taichi may have been moving in shaky jerks, but every little twitch was purposeful. It's amazing what total shrieking terror can do for a person, she thought with more than a touch of graveyard humor. They had only exchanged the briefest of glances, but Yamato knew he understood that her sudden collapse had nothing to do with stress.

Something was wrong.

End Part Twenty-One